This bed wrought iron tight gloved, brass railed
labor delivered in civil war
chirps like the rats in the trees.
I’m forever bleeding
guilty bride with no goblet
no sister at my side.
There is no freedom in the night
or the drench and chill of early dawn.
Just a noose that swings
and jerks without warning
a truth relentless
seen and not heard.
No comments:
Post a Comment